


I'm Carrying A Torch (And You're the Keeper of the Flame)

by do_not_confess



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_not_confess/pseuds/do_not_confess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late when her dad finally comes home, weary lines around his eyes.</p><p>Follow-up to the confrontation between Matt and Coach in the shower at the end of season 2 and what might happen if Julie (sort of) found out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Carrying A Torch (And You're the Keeper of the Flame)

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic, originally posted on livejournal.

It's late when her dad finally comes home, weary lines around his eyes. 

“How's Mrs. Saracen?” Tami asks from the couch.

Julie looks up from her homework on the table, into her father's worn out face. When he answers, his voice is low and heavy. 

“She's fine. Just fine. Doctor said she just fell and banged her head. No concussion.” 

Eric sighs and her parents have one of those marital communicative stare-downs to convey whatever message they want to leave unspoken. Julie hates it when they do that. Apparently, this time it's code for _let's talk later_ because her mom simply nods and says:

“Your dinner's on the stove, honey.” 

As if that explains it all, like why Matt couldn't pick his grandmother up himself or how she banged her head in the first place or why her father's pants are all wet. 

_How's Matt, Dad?_ Julie wants to ask, but doesn't. 

Instead she lets him ruffle her hair and kiss her on the cheek; then her mother tells him to go change first. While he's gone Tami doesn't meet Julie's gaze, just keeps her eyes on the TV, humming along to the tune of some old _Little House on the Prairie_ rerun. 

What the hell is going on? 

When her father comes back, he pops what's left of the meat loaf into the microwave, sighs and runs a hand through his hair, deflated from the cap he's been wearing all day. As he watches the plate rotate and waits for the beep, his eyes and shoulders look droopy and tired in that way they do when work gives him stress. 

Eric Taylor is a man of few words and even more so when he's down; Julie knows only her mom can get him out of that funk so she goes to bed soon after that. But she can hear her parents talk in the next room, in hushed tones, about Matt. She doesn't really know what it's about, but she catches his name once or twice. The way her dad doesn't use his full or only his last name but actually says _Matt_ , captures her attention. 

When her mom answers, it's in that concerned counselor tone of hers. It makes Julie think about how Matt wasn't in English class for the last two days. And how there was some talk about how he apparently bitched out his Ms. Flynn. She’d dismissed it because that didn't sound like Matt at all. Neither does skipping practices, though. 

She sees him the next day, in school, and Matt looks like a younger but just as tired version of Eric Taylor. Deflated. Beaten down somewhat. She wishes she could go up to him and ask him what's wrong, like a friend would do. She doesn't though, because she's not sure she has the right to.

She's also not quite sure she should be here now, at his house, at 9 on a school night. The good thing about being 16 and having a licence is she can take her mom's car under the pretense of going for some ice cream and show up on her ex-boyfriend's front porch, just like that. The bad thing about being 16 is that she has no clue how to address said ex-boyfriend when she shows up on his front porch, just like that. 

Julie can hear the muted sound of the TV and the jingle of _Jeopardy!_ through the screen door, telling her that Matt's grandma is home. It takes her about a minute to muster up the courage to knock – 60 seconds in which she almost turns on her heels twice – but she finally raps her knuckles against the tattered wood, paint peeling off of the frame. There's a rustle inside and then the door opens with a creak and she is met with Grandma Saracen's confused, large eyes, glasses a little askew, as if she'd been falling asleep in her chair. There's a small Band-Aid on her forehead that makes her look incredibly old and incredibly young all at once.

“Hello, Mrs Saracen,” Julie says, timidly.

“Julie, honey.” Mrs Saracen's tone is all warm and her smile congenial. “Matthew's not home.”

“Oh.” Julie says and something in her face must have shown what Lorraine Saracen took as disappointment because she is quick to usher her in, with her southern drawl and a warm arm embracing Julie. 

“Well, do come in, it's a cold night for sure, have a seat,” the older woman says as she steers her into the tiny living room. “Would ya care for some blueberry pie? S’not homemade I'm afraid, sweetheart, but it's the good kind and I'm sure there's some ice cream around here, too-” 

Mrs. Saracen's hand skittishly flutters over the lace piece on top of the love chair and Julie reaches out and holds it there, in place. To her surprise it feels firm underneath her grip – like a reminder of the strong and loving woman hidden underneath the confusion that engulfs her most days. 

Mrs. Saracen smiles and stares at her, eyes crinkling behind her glasses. 

“My, my, Julie Taylor. It's so good to see you, honey. I'm afraid Matthew's not home.” Her eyes soften and lose focus for a second. “But you could sit with me for a while, how ‘bout that? We could talk a little? Why, we haven't done that in ages, have we?” 

“Mrs. Saracen, I’m not sure I should stay if Matt’s not here-“

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Saracen says. “I do like company alright.” 

She chuckles a little and her hand twitters underneath Julie's. 

“I'm a little concerned about him. That's what I told your daddy, too. He's not been himself the last few days.“ Her mouth grows sad. “I think he needs a little help.”

“Matt?” Julie asks.

The older woman's eyes cloud over and she shakes her head. “What? No, silly. Joel. He seems so sad. I wish he'd tell me why.” And then, out of the blue, she sighs and runs a hand over Julie's hair, so tender and light, it makes Julie want to cry. “You know, I think the poor boy's still carryin' a torch for ya. He's got it bad.” The older woman laughs at the expression on Julie's face, pats her cheek. “Oh well,” she says.

With this, she sits down in her chair, foot tapping while she rocks back and forth, attention back on the TV. Julie hesitantly takes a seat as well, even though Mrs. Saracen seems to be back in her own world now, shouting: “Who is John Lennon?” at Alex Trebek even though the answer is “The lead singer of The Doors”. She doesn't look at Julie, simply tut-tuts as the contestant gives the correct question. Hums under her breath when the commercials come on.

This clearly isn't one of Mrs. Saracen's good spells and Julie feels weird and guilty being here, thinks that Matt wouldn't want her to, if he knew. But she can't just leave either. And she can't help but think about his grandma's words and whether they were said in a moment of lucidity or delusion. She shakes herself out of it. It doesn’t matter. Even if Mrs. Saracen had been in her right mind, that still wouldn’t necessarily make it true. 

“Carryin' a torch,” Mrs Saracen murmurs. “That's right.” She rocks and with the motion her chin bobs down, as if in affirmation.

Suddenly the door opens and before Julie knows what's happening, Matt's in the room, looming over her. 

“Julie-” he says, a little startled when he sees her and she hates how that feels like he's staring down at her, how the standing position seems to give him some sort of advantage. The thought is ridiculous. They're not going to war or something. 

“Hey,” she replies awkwardly and gets up. “I was just-” She swallows. “In the neighbourhood.” Even in her own head it sounds stupid and lame; he must know it's a lie, because what would she be doing in this part of town, at this time of night? 

He looks sweaty and tired in his work clothes (how come she didn't think of the fact that he might be working?) and Julie feels utterly out of place, like she's gone back in time 6 months ago while Matt's clearly still stuck in the present. 

“I just wanted to see how you're doing. Say hi,” She finishes and it's just as lame, but a lot more honest.

“Um, yeah. Hi.” He mumbles and it doesn’t sound particularly friendly. He doesn't look her in the eye either, just wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The sleeves of his shirt are sprinkled with grease stains.

Julie takes a breath while she fingers the strap of her purse. 

“I'm sorry-” She starts, and then stops, mad at herself for apologizing. “But - ‘cause you weren't in school, and you missed practice and we said we should be friends, only we never really got ‘round to you know, actually being friends, but I thought maybe you could use one and-”

She's rambling now and she wishes she could stop sounding so damn defensive, as if she needs to explain herself. Wishes she could stop feeling guilty over every single thing that's happened between them. He's got a frown written all over his face and it's impossible to tell if he's just tired and worn out or plain pissed off. Maybe both. 

“Did your dad tell you to come here?” He asks and now she's quite sure he's mad. 

“No!” she says, almost too quickly and shakes her head vehemently. “No. Why would-”

“’Cause you can tell him I'm fine.“ He cuts her off. There's a certain finality to his words, as if that settles the matter, as if he doesn't want to say more. She looks into his face, so familiar and foreign and the urge to reach out and touch him and make that stony mask go away is so strong, it hits her like a punch in the gut. 

“If you ever want to talk…” Julie offers, lamely. Tries to look him in the eye while saying it. His eyes draw smaller and she still can't read him for the life of her. He used to be so gentle, his face like an open book. Now his mouth's a firm set line of bitterness and she wonders if she's done this to him. If she has, maybe she should be apologizing after all. 

“Matthew, honey, why don't you offer Julie something to drink? Didn't I teach you some manners?” Grandma interrupts them. 

He opens his mouth to say something but Julie cuts him off before he can tell her to leave. She couldn't stand that. 

“No, it's ok,” she says. “I should go home anyway. Thanks for having me, Mrs. Saracen.” 

Julie swallows and hopes her voice didn't shake too badly. She wants him to tell her to stay. She wants to tell him she wishes she’d never left. And she realizes that’s the reason why she came here, tonight. 

“Oh, absolutely honey,” Grandma says and smiles. “You know you can come by anytime. Matt's friends are always welcome here.”

Julie feels her lip quiver and turns her face away. Musters all her courage to say “I meant it, Matt. I would like us to be friends.” before she grabs her jacket, mutters a quick “Bye” and nearly bolts from the room. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Matt's stunned expression. He makes a step in her direction as if to say something but she doesn't want him to see her face. She reaches the door first. 

She calls “Bye, Mrs. Saracen!” and she has to force the words out of her chest. It hurts a little because her heart feels all wrong and open, as if it's stuck in her throat and she swallows it down and her stomach's a mess. When she reaches her car, the tears are already running down her face and she wipes them away, stubbornly, angrily. She needs to get it together, really. She needs to let it go. _Dammit_. 

She takes a deep breath when she starts the car, to get the crying under control. Doesn't make it any less true though, she thinks, as she swallows hot, salty tears.

And then she thinks about how Grandma Saracen doesn't know she's got it all wrong. Doesn't know that it's Julie carrying that damn torch.


End file.
